Power of Two
by Elizabeth Theresa
Summary: Future fic. I pick you up and in the trunk I've packed a cooler and a twoday suitcase. For once its Derek running and Meredith fighting.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Do I really need to explain this? Not mine, pure and simple. The lyrics are from "Power of Two," by the Indigo Girls.

A/N: This takes place several years in the future. Everything else is self explanatory.

Please review.

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"Now the parking lot is empty,

Everyone's gone some place.

I pick you up and in the trunk I've packed,

A cooler and a two day suitcase.

Cause there's a place we like to drive,

Way out in the country.

And five miles out of the city limit we're singing,

And your hand's upon my knee."

There is a river in Egypt, and you are its queen. Queen of denial.

The first year and a half of your marriage had been picture perfect, a honeymoon long after your week vacation to Hawaii ended. It had been so perfect, in fact, that Christina had taken to "Mcvomiting," whenever the three of you were in the same room. You had never laughed so much, never smiled so frequently. For the first time in your life you had a true family, you even shared your name with one of them. Dark and twisty Meredith was no where to be found.

And suddenly, in the place where dark and twisty Meredith had once stood, stands dark and twisty Derek.

You tried to pretend nothing is wrong, but if you are honest with yourself you have to admit that something has been wrong for months. He still looks at you across the room, but the sparkle is gone from his eyes. He overdoes it with the cocky brain surgeon act at the hospital. He forces his laughter at Seattle Grace and never so much as smiles at home. There are phone conversations he has tried to keep hidden from you, and he has become obsessed with getting the mail himself. Even in sleep he has begun to pull away from you, curling into a tight ball and staying so close to the edge that you have stopped trying to wrap your arms around him at night for fear that he will try to pull away and end up falling out of bed.

You have tried to talk to him, to find out why he is hurting. Every time you ask he says he is fine. For the first time you understand how he felt all those times you said that in the early days of your relationship. Out of sheer desperation you cornered Mark one day, dragging him into one of the hospital's supply closets and begging him for information. He told you he didn't know what was eating his best friend, and you spent the next half hour sobbing into his shoulder.

You know that you will lose Derek unless something changes. And so you are waiting in the parking lot when his shift ends. When he sees you he assumes you are just there to pick him up. He does not know that the trunk of your car is packed with a cooler, two changes of clothes for each of you, and a tent. He doesn't realize anything is different until you take the road that leads away from your house and towards the land he never got around to selling.

"Meredith, where are we going?" His voice is flat, lifeless, as though he doesn't really care about the answer to the question he has posed.

"Away," you say simply. His sigh indicates that he wants more information. When none is forthcoming he snaps at you.

"I don't have time for this. I have work tomorrow night, and I have other responsibilities."

"I talked to the chief. He said the hospital can survive without you for two days. As for your other responsibilities," you shrug nonchalantly, "I guess they'll just have to wait."

"So you're kidnapping me?" That "I don't give a damn" tone is back in his voice.

"If that's how you want to think of it then yes, I'm kidnapping you."

"Why?"

"Because Derek. Because I don't know what else to do." His shoulders slump in pure, miserable, defeat.

"This isn't going to be a fun, laid back, vacation?" It isn't really a question, he already knows the answer.

"I have beer," you offer as if the promise of alcoholic beverages will make the next two days easier for either of you. You reach over and turn on the radio, using your thumb to push the preset buttons until you find a song you both like then cranking it up and letting your hand fall to rest on his leg. You are not a particularly talented singer, but you sing along with the music anyway. And, as you see the "Welcome to Seattle" sign pass outside your window, you hear him join you.

"So we're okay,

We're fine.

Baby I'm here to stop your crying.

Chase all the ghosts from your head.

I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed,

Smarter than the tricks played on your heart.

We'll look at them together then we'll take them apart.

Adding up the total of a love that's true,

Multiply life by the power of two.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nothing's changed since chapter 1.

A/N: Thank you to those of you who read and reviewed the first chapter. I hope you enjoy this one as well

"You know the things that I am afraid of,

I'm not afraid to tell.

And if we ever leave a legacy,

It's that we loved each other well.

Because I've seen the shadows of so many people,

Still trying on the treasures of youth.

But a road that fancy and fast ends in a fatal crash.

And I'm glad we got off to tell you the truth."

Your marriage has changed you in ways you never would have expected. One of the most obvious changes is your newfound ability to trust at least one person in the world. You are also more willing to share your problems with someone, to let your friends and family comfort you when you are frightened. But you have made several smaller changes as well. Your spaghetti no longer resembles a hunk of plastic, and you actually have real food in the refrigerator.

Your marriage has not taught you to be outdoorsy.

Unfortunately this did not occur to you until you arrived at the far edge of Derek's land and pulled the tent from the back of the car, at which point you realized you haven't the slightest inkling how to erect the thing. You spend a full hour trying to transform the mass of canvas and mettle poles into some type of shelter which, in the past, would have given Derek no end of amusement. You can almost picture the grin on his face; you can almost hear his gentle laughter. There is no grin today, not even the tiniest of smiles. He sits sullenly in the car, watching you but not really seeing you. You finally have to admit defeat, and so you return to your vehicle. For a moment you just stand there watching your husband. He is still in his seat, seatbelt securely fastened. His shoulders are slumped and his face holds a pained expression. A half remembered Greek mythology class flashes into your mind, and you wonder if this is what the god who literally carried the world on his shoulders looked like.

You knock gently on the window, and he continues to stare blindly ahead. It takes two more forceful raps to break his trance. "I need you," you say after he roles down the glass. Your words don't faze him though your unintentional double meaning stops you cold.

"What?" You sigh inwardly and wonder if he even heard you.

"The tent," you explain, gesturing lamely to your pitiful attempt at erecting shelter.

"The tent?" he asks without looking.

"I don't know how to make that mess a tent." You catch yourself biting your bottom lip. He nods, gets out of the car, and strides toward the mess in the middle of the clearing.

"Maybe this is why men are usually left in charge of building," you say trying to lighten the mood. You are rewarded with an unintelligible grunt clearly meant to discourage conversation, but you have never done well with silence. "I mean seriously, I suck at that. Building I mean, I suck at building, and putting things together. I had a set of Lincoln Logs when I was a kid and my houses always ended up falling apart, or else those little notchy things never lined up right. I'm better at repairing things that have already been created. Maybe that's why I'm a doctor. Because we fix things. Or people, actually we fix people."

"Will you hold this?" he asks, effectively cutting off your rambling. You take the tent poll he is offering and hold it up while he does whatever has to be done to make the thing a tent.

"Hey, look at that!" you exclaim in shock. "You built it!" He shrugs.

"I just put some poles in the ground and covered them with canvas," he says modestly, "I don't think that actually counts as building." It's a simple sentence, but your face breaks into a huge grin because this has suddenly become a conversation as opposed to a monologue.

"Well, I mean it's not a five star hotel or a fancy camper or anything, but considering the mess I made of it it's pretty impressive." You head back to the car to retrieve the cooler. "Could you, I mean, um would you light the fire? There's already wood and everything, Mark helped me chop some when I started planning this which is good since it took a while and we should probably eat soon which means we wouldn't really have time to get it all gathered up and light it and cook and stuff." By the time you have finished saying all this he is squatting by the pit you and Mark dug together and the small pile of kindling is burning brightly.

Dinner is a simple quiet affair. You packed hotdogs, because you weren't sure what else people eat when they go camping. You cook them on sticks just like you see in movies, and even Derek has to smile when you admit that you forgot buns and condiments. When you see that tiny upward curve of his lips you reach up and gently kiss him. "What was that for?" he asks.

"Nothing special," you say without thinking. The look of utter shock on your husband's face nearly breaks your heart, and you wonder how long it has been since you even attempted that. Some how you have become so accustomed to him pushing you away that you stopped trying to get close. And so you wrap your arms around him and once again press your lips to his. He deepens the kiss and you realize that you are both stumbling toward the tent. For a moment you consider pulling away. You brought him here to talk, to bring him back to you, not to have sex. Derek's shocked expression flashes across your mind and you realize that this might be as much a form of healing as talking, that sometimes making love has as much meaning as saying those three all-important words.

When it's over you lay beside him, both of you on your backs staring up at the canvas roof. "I'm sorry." The words are so quiet you wonder if you really heard them.

"What?"

"I'm sorry it's not a fancy camper," he says softly. "I'm sorry we don't have… It's all so simple." You reach over and gently place your finger over his lips.

"Its perfect," you say, and you mean it. "We don't need a camper, or anything fancier than what we have. More often than not that stuff just makes people's lives more complicated." You prop yourself up on one elbow and study the face of the love of your life. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and lines in his forehead you don't remember. "Get some sleep," you whisper as you place a feather-light kiss on his nose. He is too exhausted to put up a fight.

"So we're okay,

We're fine.

Baby I'm here to stop your crying.

Chase all the ghosts from your head.

I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed,

Smarter than the tricks played on your heart.

We'll look at them together then we'll take them apart.

Adding up the total of a love that's true,

Multiply life by the power of two.


End file.
